


As I touch your shoulder tonight

by chuckjd



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Dancing, F/M, M/M, POV Third Person, Pre-Slash, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuckjd/pseuds/chuckjd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John needs a quick refresher on ballroom dancing before a date and Sherlock is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I touch your shoulder tonight

John leaned back into his armchair.  His laptop was balancing on his thighs, pumping out jaunty but quiet music while he lifted his arms stiffly in angled poses and shuffled his feet every few measures. He studied the screen carefully while his brow furrowed.

Sherlock was in his mind palace on the couch, flittering through his knowledge lazily, because he could. Between cases, he had taken to wandering the vast rooms of his mind to keep his wits sharp and to keep from being a babbling pest. His fingers were steepled to his chin and his eyes were darting rapidly around the room without actually focusing on anything. Sherlock’s wandering gaze finally landed on John and he was intrigued by John’s movements. He sat up and leaned forward, elbows on knees and fingertips on lips.

“Why are you doing that?” Sherlock asked out of courtesy, his tone hollow.

“I’m trying to learn to dance—“

“I asked to humor you,” Sherlock interrupted, “but I can’t handle talking about another date with Linda— “

“—Sharon—“

“—when it doesn’t interest me.”

John sighed. “Your honesty is always appreciated, Sherlock,” his words covered in saccharine.

“I would hope so.”

John rolled his eyes and went back to watching the computer, his head slightly bobbing to the beat.

“What I _meant_ ,” Sherlock said, straightening up, “was why are you learning to dance like _that_?”

“For your information, I would rather avoid being the worst in the class.”

“That much is obvious,” Sherlock said dismissively. “There are so many better ways to learn, especially better than the sitting part.”  He gestured with his hands just as dismissively.

John closed the laptop and set it aside, the flat now silent without the small speakers’ tinny tunes.

“This must be a one-time class because a series of classes would put your mind more at ease that you could redeem yourself by getting better, but it would also show a sign of commitment, and with the way you seem to go through girlfriends, that’s just not likely. If you had more time to prepare, you might go to a class on your own, but you are finding the easiest and cheapest way to go about a refresher course. This shows that you like her enough to try and impress her but not enough to make more of an effort. I say refresher course because, by the way you hold your arms, you’ve done it before. But it’s been a long time, possibly since school.” Sherlock sounded as if he had not taken a breath and paused to let John argue or applaud as he usually did.

John nodded sourly and shrugged briefly. “Well, what would you have me do?”

Sherlock rose and walked over to John’s chair. “Seeing as you have done this before, we just need to refresh your muscle memory.” He extended his hand out to the seated man.

“We?” John wondered, but he took Sherlock’s hand without any hesitation and stood.

Sherlock hastily moved any large obstacles out of the area and kicked anything smaller out of the way. John just watched, not really knowing how to react yet. “Wait, so you know how to dance?” Sherlock ignored him, concentrating on making more space. “You forget such basic yet ‘unnecessary’ things, but you know how to dance.” He was mostly talking to himself.

“Right, that should be enough space to move,” Sherlock said, measuring roughly with his spread arms. He stood in front of John, arms and hands poised in place, waiting for John to hold back. “Muscle memory is one of the hardest memories to rid yourself of. Anyway, it’s proving useful,” he finally answered.

John gave in and placed his right hand on Sherlock’s back and took Sherlock’s raised hand in his left. “Why do you know how to dance?”

Sherlock almost smirked. “Though I very obviously try to hide it, unlike Mycroft, the Holmes family is not one for state schools and football but for boarding schools and formal balls.”

John laughed. “I can’t see you at a ball.” Sherlock frowned slightly.

“I can’t say I enjoyed them or even participated most of the time, but I assure you, I was more than capable.”

“Sure, of course,” John replied, forcing a straight face.

“Right, do you know the basic waltz box step?”

“I think so,” John said, entirely unsure.

“Then just follow my lead.” Sherlock closed his eyes and boxed slowly, John looking down the entire time, carefully watching their steps.

After a few boxes, Sherlock stopped and opened his eyes while John plowed headfirst into Sherlock’s chest.

“John, you’re holding me all wrong.” John laughed under his breath and then coughed to cover it up. “You’ll need to know the position you’re in now, but let’s switch so I can better demonstrate.”

John moved his left hand to Sherlock’s shoulder and gripped Sherlock’s hand with his right. It was a bit of a reach for Sherlock’s shoulder.

“See, under the shoulder blade,” Sherlock demonstrated with his hand, “firm pressure is helpful in communicating the next move.”

John was slightly caught off guard and moved forward a stumble’s worth. Sherlock looked down at him, but his face was unreadable. A blush may have gone unmentioned.

“Then there are these hands.” Sherlock shook their grip slightly. “When you are in my position, you will not so much grip your partner’s hand as make a perch for their hand to hang from and hold very loosely.”

John adjusted his grip and followed Sherlock’s lead.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. Box. Box. Box. Box. John slowly began to get the hang of it while Sherlock, with his eyes closed, pressed his hand into John’s back, leading them in more adventurous circles over the carpet.

“Let’s switch back so you can better play the role you need to know,” Sherlock announced, guiding them to a more graceful stop. “Your partner will want you to know how to lead.” John switched his hands back to the way he remembered. “Good. Now let’s go again.”

Their turns were much slower, John concentrating on getting his feet right without looking at them.

“Look at me and concentrate,” Sherlock instructed intensely, nudging John’s chin up with one long finger. “Eye to eye and count out loud if you have to, but don’t look down.”

John locked eyes with him, doing his best to keep his feet off of Sherlock’s in the process. The turning did not improve so much and their shoes became more worn by the step.

“You must hold me tighter, John,” he said, contorting to push John’s hand on his back against him harder. “A firm hand is a necessity. How am I to know where you’d like to take me?”

John sighed and pressed his hand firmly as Sherlock instructed. Sherlock tilted forward with the motion and a smirk curled the corner of his lips. “Much better.” And with that, they boxed again, John’s face slightly hotter than it was before.

Now that his posture, position, placement, and a million other little things were taken care of, the wall clock informed John that it was time to get ready before the “real” dance lesson. He was meeting Sharon at 8 p.m. – just enough time to clean up, pick a jumper, and be off.

Sherlock stopped a step before he did, leading John to stumble again. “Why’d you stop?” asked John.

The innocent and confused look crossed Sherlock’s face – the look that could get the majority of the Metro PD in a _terrible_ mood. “You told me to,” he said simply.

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“Did you not want me to stop with the way you touched me?”

“Well yes, but—“ John blurted at the phrasing. He paused to catch his thoughts. “I have to go get ready for the ‘real’ lesson tonight with Sharon, so...” He trailed off to another pause. “Thank you for all your help, Sherlock.” It was warm and genuine with the hint of a smile.

Sherlock dismissed him with a wave, already walking over to his violin. John hesitated, then bowed his head, “Right,” and climbed the stairs. Sherlock was still playing when he left, the melody rich and tense. A tango.

~~**\--*--** ~~

John climbed – trudged – the stairs up to the flat. The whole way, he heard the violin in action. The song started slow, almost sad, but sped up happily as John got closer to their common area. Sherlock dramatically played the last note and put his violin down. “Back so soon?”

“I’ve been gone over two hours! Never mind. You’ve probably been playing that thing nonstop since I left.”

“Tonight didn’t go well,” Sherlock replied glumly.

”Why not?”

Sherlock looked him over briefly.

John huffed with an exasperated laugh, “Oh, me? Gonna deduce it out of me?”

“You were a fine beginner earlier, so it couldn’t have been your dancing. Your shoes are unscuffed, so Dolores—“

“Sharon. I’ve never even dated a Dolores—“

“—couldn’t have been too bad herself. You’re flushed with a light sheen of sweat, so you tried, most of if not the whole time – no arguments, but possibly too all-business.”

John dropped his head and sighed. “Please, Sherlock. Can we not?”

Sherlock cocked his head slightly, eyes narrowing curiously. “But you’ve got lipstick traces on your mouth.”

John’s hand went up instinctively to wipe at the smudge. He stopped himself and sighed. “Good night, Sherlock,” in a deflated voice. He turned to continue his trudge to his room.

“She had enough fun to kiss you good night – rather fervently, I might add. You didn’t stay for ‘just one more drink,’ and yet a bad night is written all over you.” Sherlock was starting to pace, one hand on his elbow, the other at his mouth.

Without turning around, John stopped and said “It wasn’t the date; the date was perfect.”

Sherlock stopped too. “But it _was_ something.”

John heaved a giant breath. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this,” he mumbled. He made a move to turn back toward Sherlock, stopped, and swung back the way he had been, feet still firmly planted. He paused, then took another deep breath.

Sherlock stared at John’s back from across the room. His eyes darted over every feature, but settled on nothing. When John finally turned around, Sherlock read those features with quick eyes too.

“Yes, it was something. The date was perfect, but I wasn’t.”

Sherlock had the words “GO ON” written upon his features so clearly even John could read them.

John swallowed and his mouth fell open, silent. A few flaps of his jaw and John looked down again, finding courage in his hand-wringing. “While I was dancing with Sharon, all I could think about was... how much better it felt to dance with you.”

The silence lasted only a moment before Sherlock ruined it. “I am an accomplished dancer, so it’s not really fair to compare her—“

“Oh, would you shut up?” John said with frustration but no venom, wiping a hand down his face. “That’s not what I mean at all and you know it. You always know it.” John’s jaw was clenched and he finally held defiant eye contact. He may have looked angry, but Sherlock knew better.

“Would you like to pick up where we left off, then? Before? With our lesson?” Sherlock suggested meekly.  The small tone was awkward in his voice.

John’s head cocked and his eyes grew wide. “Um, yeah. Okay.”

“I just think that there are more than a few things left we could work on,” Sherlock said calmly and evenly in contrast to how _frantically_ he climbed and stepped across the room. He stopped only when he was face to face with John, their chests inches apart. “And the better a dance is learned, the better it feels.” John looked up into Sherlock’s face and smiled knowingly; Sherlock did the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the amazing Pulp song "F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E." It's the most perfect John/Sherlock song I've ever heard because things with them "[aren't] chocolate boxes and roses"
> 
> Beta'd by my lovely gal, and all remaining mistakes are my own. She's not an avid Sherlock fan, so she wasn't able to correct any series inaccuracies (like the wall clock: where are the clocks in that place?). And it's been a while since I went dancing, so there may be some errors there too.
> 
> See a typo? Inaccuracy? Contradiction to canon? PLEASE let me know. I try to be as researched as possible, but things are still missed.


End file.
